


To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan

by Ronah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, I Love This OTP So Deal With It, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronah/pseuds/Ronah
Summary: “To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,” — these words were written in impeccable handwriting, which she could never forget.This work is inspired by Solas' greeting card, which BioWare published on the anniversary of Dragon Age: Inquisition.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas, Frelas, Solas/Female Trevelyan, Solas/Frederica Trevelyan, Solas/Inquisitor, Solas/Trevelyan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Леди Инквизитору Тревельян](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/537697) by Рона. 



This envelope wasn't like all the others.

Frederica Trevelyan turned it over with a suspicious expression on her face. A coarse brown paper, not touched by their new spy master for some reason. No seal, no signature. Only the addressee was indicated: _“To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan”._

She was Inquisitor no more. This fact was known all over Thedas. So who in the world could...

Her hand, clutching the envelope, suddenly shook with anxiety. Frederica turned pale and got up from her chair, almost sweeping away other papers.

“Milady?” the scout who delivered mails asked her, embarassed.

“Open it,” she said abruptly. “Please, hurry.”

 _“To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,”_ — these words were written in impeccable handwriting, which she could never forget. There could be no mistake. Frederica handed the envelope to the young scout; her eyes swept frantically, looking for a letter knife. The scout was the first to notice it on the secretaire while Trevelyan fought a storm within her. Her heart wasn't aching, but literally torn apart.

Then, a sound of paper cut. The scout carefully opened the envelope and looked at Frederica questioningly.

“A letter from home,” Frederica guessed to say (her voice always got drier and colder when she lied). “Thank you... I think, I can handle it from here.”

She was left alone and — she broke down into the chair. Her legs weakened, this weakness gradually swept over her body. _“To Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,”_ the violet eyes read, enjoying the beauty of each twirl. Finally, Frederica turned the envelope upside down, grabbed an edge with her teeth, and her fingers pulled out the half-folded postcard from inside.

It was from him.

Freda released the envelope and hunched over, either gasped or sobbed. Everything was burning in her chest just a minute ago — now the balm, viscous and cool, was overflowing inside her. The world has narrowed to the size of her room... no, the size of a small square of paper with a color pattern on one side. The meaning of the picture slipped away from her, although the artist (oh, Freda knew) always preferred a metaphorical way rather than simple, unequivocal art. She saw the forest and mountains drawned with the thinnest dotted line, and waves along a golden sky, and some dark figures in a distance. Above them, there were two moons which touched each other with convex edges.

It was from him, Frederica knew, knew for sure, as her soul did; she wouldn’t mistake these handwriting and image with anything. It couldn't be fake, nor can the secret attraction of her heart be faked.

 _“Happy Birthday,”_ this was written inside the postcard by the same hand,

_“Inquisitor,_

_The passage of these five long years seems but an instant in my heart, yeat still ample cause for celebration..._

_Tea soon?_

_Solas.”_

“Solas...” Trevelyan repeated softly, barely conscious of herself. Thoughts in her head rolled like stones on the river bottom. He remembers her birthday. He must be crazy writing to her so openly. He hates tea. He wants to see her. He's waiting for her... or not?

Freda shook her head, she almost moaned in consternation, in half-madness; she groaned with piercing tenderness grown in her heart, with stubborn hope and savaged love. And every moment of those past five years that hadn't faded, all these bright and distinct moments, like ink lines on the postcard, settled on Trevelyan's hunched shoulders.

This written message could extend or shorten Freda's life. This message promised happy days that she no longer hoped for, or days full of suffering and misery.

In the end, this message could be just a congratulation for an enemy or for a friend — it could be precious words for Freda-the-Inquisitor-no-more from Solas, who turned out to be Fen'Harel.

And to be honest... it was the most sincere thing that ever happened between them.

So, Frederica smiled with gratitude and bitterness; her eyes froze on the _“tea soon?”_ line, and her answer melted in the air without touching the paper:

“Gladly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, now I can introduce my lady Inquisitor to you! I have written severals works in Russian about her.


End file.
